Page 75 of Summer Holiday Lifeline

He was trying hard these days not to be a recluse, he chided himself. One little reminder of that terrible day of opening the door to a stranger telling him his life had just turned itself inside out should not negate all the work he’d done to get to a place he had a real, live guy to kiss.

A real, live guy who, probably sooner rather than later, was going to get sick of the restrictions. Steven’s fear of leaving the house was going to put a strain on their times together. That had already happened with Becca, and Steven saw no reason why it should be any different with Myles.

Except Myles hadn’t given the smallest sign that the shop, or Steven’s company, bored him. He hadn’t once suggested they go out, or do anything different. In fact, he’d extended his vacation in Griffon’ Elbow, and though he had said that wasn’t just because of Steven, he also hadn’t said it wasn’t, in part because of their relationship.

So that was good, right? He liked Steven. He liked the shop. Hell, he liked books, which Becca hadn’t. Not that that made her a bad person. Just not his person.

You can’t compare the two.

“I am not comparing them,” he told the annoying voice. Even though that was one hundred percent totally and completely what he was doing. “And anyway, if I am, it’s only to remind myself how much better he is for me than she ever was.”

And it’s not at all about how you are just as terrible for him as you were for her.

“Shut up!”

“I’m sorry?”

Too late, Steven heard the squeak of the door hinges announcing the entrance of a customer.

“Oh! No! Not you. Obviously. I mean, come in. Here, let me get the door for you.” He hurried over to hold the door from swinging shut before his guest had a chance to clear it with both her crutches. “Tiffany, isn’t it?”

“It is. Thank you for remembering.”

“You bought notebooks from me last month.”

She smiled at him. “I did. The tooled leather covers and cream paper. One had hibiscus and one peonies, I believe.”

“One of a kind, those.” He remembered the two blank notebooks she’d purchased. He’d been surprised to find them in one of his father’s dusty old boxes, unaware he’d ever bought anything but the endless boxes of novels he’d been unpacking recently.

She looked a little disappointed at that. “So you don’t still carry them?”

“Sorry. I found them in one of the old boxes my father bought before he died. They were under a stack of old, unused colouring books. I doubt he even knew they were there.” Funny how the mention of his father, even his death, for once didn’t make it harder to breathe. Still made his heart twinge, but it didn’t crush his chest like so many times before.

“That’s too bad. That paper was a dream to write on.” She went on about her notebooks as though a major life event hadn’t just happened. Which for her, it hadn’t.

Steven raced to catch up. “I did source some other notebooks. Not as old as those ones, but still.” He scrubbed at his chest as he led her over to a rack near the centre table where he and Myles had been working. “Twenty-year-old stock from a stationary shop that closed down.” Rather than show her the pretty but ubiquitous books on the rack—ones she could have purchased at any nice gift shop—he opened a cupboard at the bottom of the display and pulled out a few older ones. “Better quality even as old as these are than anything you can buy now. Unless you want handmade stuff, I mean.”

He held out his favourite of the small selection of lined notebooks. The covers were all velvet and brocade over heavy cardboard and the pages thick enough the ink from the pens Tiffany preferred wouldn’t bleed through.

“This is nice,” she agreed.

“I stashed them away for you. Just in case.”

She looked up from examining the stitches holding the pages in place. “That’s sweet.”

Steven shrugged. “I knew you’d appreciate them.” He spun the rack around. “I like to tell people the notebooks are where these books all start.”

The narrow shelves on the opposite side of the rack from the notebooks displayed copies of Tiffany’s own books.

“Not sure how I feel about seeing my books in a used bookshop.”

“Oh. These aren’t used. I order them from your publisher. They keep me stocked up. You have a lot of fans, you know. I’m having a heck of a time keeping the latest one on the shelf.”

“Look at you.” She hugged the notebook to herself. “I didn’t know they even stocked smaller numbers like this.”

“When they found out I’m in Griffon’s Elbow, they asked if I knew the B and B. I think they let me carry a small inventory because you’re kind of a local legend.”

“That and as long as this place keeps me inspired, I keep writing more books and they make more money.”